


Blood Brothers

by filenotch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filenotch/pseuds/filenotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tonight he will hurt me beautifully."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> This is not properly a story, but rather a remembering prompted by by Speedo's Chakotay/Paris BDSM series "Wolfsong". Fact or fiction? Memory is slippery stuff. I'll let the piece speak for itself, though I warn you that from the first line it doesn't say anything nice.

He has chosen this moment to open my skin. The blade of my knife is not sharp, and he must press down hard to do this. I am face down, unbound, and even though he cannot see my expression I am proud that I do not flinch. If he thinks for a moment that I may not want this, he will stop.

It is my knife he uses. The blade is serviceable for cutting twine and boxes, for peeling back insulation from wires, for slicing through tarp, and for paring my nails. I carry it with me always, for both practical and sentimental reasons.

He has taught me to love the knife. He has dipped the blade into ice to draw cold landscapes across my body. He has heated it in flame to sculpt my flesh with burns. He has trailed the point lightly across every inch of me to write the story of my desire.

He knows me, knows every need I ever had, and a few that he created. He fills them all. There are times I sense reluctance in him. Then I know to take my knife back. The trick is to know whether to put it away, or to demonstrate my appreciation in steel on his spine.

I can tell that after this he will need me to fold the blade. After so many nights of a duel of wills disguised as play, this is first blood. The blade tears a few more centimeters before he stops, scrapes the edge across the wound, and reaches around to offer me red smears to lick clean. He is marking me as his, which he knows I want, but which may be more than he wants.

He usually enjoys this, but not always. He often prefers me astride him, my hand between us stroking myself (because he doesn't do it right). My every other move then is aimed at pleasing him. I give to him gently then what at other times I plead for him to take from me. But not tonight. Tonight he will hurt me beautifully.

Fifteen years later I will remember all of this, and ache with the memory in my heart, my groin, and my back. My back by then will have grown strong from the years spent working beside him for long, difficult days. He will have shaped me, body and soul.

That will be fifteen years from now. A moment ago he opened my skin, and now he licks across the cut and leans in to kiss me, binding us with the taste of my blood on each other's tongue.


End file.
